


Silly Magic - Life of Harry's Holy Magical Circus

by DarkPhoenix713



Series: Silly Magic! [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), Monty Python's Flying Circus, Monty Python's Life of Brian (1979)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Humor, Monty Python, Other, Silly, Stolen Dialogue, Taunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkPhoenix713/pseuds/DarkPhoenix713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry always knew he was strange. What he came to realize was that he was actually silly. Join Harry as he, Hermione, Neville, and an unwitting Draco unleash silly magic on Hogwarts, and maybe even the world! Draws on all of Monty Python's work, via the medium of Rowling's characters. Witness Voldemort as Reg of the Pureblood's Front of Magic! See Draco indicted for hating muggles 'a lot'! Neville is NOT a squib, and Hermione proves it - with science! McGonagall delivers a disciplinary Latin lesson! Is Hogwarts only a model? Harry silly-walks his way through the magical world, and Voldemort isn't quite dead yet! Lots of OOCness First chapter - parts of first year!  R & R!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silly Magic - Life of Harry's Holy Magical Circus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Hello! I thought of this lovely concept a while ago, it's taken me a while to compile all the scenes I want. I have a lot of Monty Python Material to go through! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form (other than book form. Then yes, I do own Harry Potter.) I do not own the material for Monty Python either, but seeing as the original writers are all old men, if it came to a fight over custody I may just win. *Kidding
> 
> Warnings: This is entirely silly. There is little to no Seriousness (but quite a lot of potential for Siriusness) in this fic. It also takes place entirely in the Harry Potter world, using its characters to re-enact Monty Python Scenes in a Magical way. There may be cameos from the original Python group, but that remains to be seen.
> 
> Please tell me what you think, and enjoy the read! I hope that at least some of you get a laugh out of this :)
> 
> Note: The songs used in this chapter are 'Brave Sir Robin' from Holy Grail, and 'The Meaning of Life' from The Meaning of Life, if you're stuck on how the tune should go. Cheers!

Part the First - Where Magic and Silliness, in an Unprecedented Move, Combine

Harry Potter was a very strange boy. He was hyper-aware of his strangeness, because his Aunt and Uncle reminded him of it every day. He didn't try to be strange, and he wasn't quite sure what made him strange – all he knew was that he was strange, and always had been. His parents had apparently been strange as well, so he was able to console himself with the idea that the strangeness was hereditary. When he pursued that line of thought, however, and asked his Aunt if she was also strange, he'd gotten the telling off of his life, and so resolved to keep his strange theories on strangeness to himself.

Being constantly told that he was strange and freakish had an odd effect on Harry's outlook on life; he figured that since he was strange anyway, he was in no way accountable for his actions. He blamed it on the strangeness. So when his teachers reprimanded him for doodling, or his Aunt and Uncle railed on about his lazy ways and messy hair, he just shrugged it off and held the strangeness responsible. It got to be rather annoying, however, with people telling him off all the time, and assigning him chores, so he started seeking methods of escape after school and during summer. If some of them were a bit odd – well, he was strange, so there was no problem. 

He tried loitering around the park, but he found that he couldn't remain there for too many hours or else concerned parents would be wanting to see him home, and a confrontation with the Durlseys was the last thing he needed. So he started hanging around old Mrs. Figg's place, helping her with her excessive amount of cats and being fed slightly stale food. This was nice, and Mrs. Figg was also a bit strange, so Harry felt that he may finally be fitting in. Only – he really didn't like the cats all that much, and he wasn't sure if he was at all enamoured with the particular brand of strangeness that Mrs. Figg exhibited. No, he would have to look for something else.

At a loss, he turned to one of the last places a child could frequent without drawing undue attention: the library. He managed to stay there for hours; one of the old librarians took a delight in feeding him lunch, and they would share her sandwiches while she railed on about how wonderful it was to see a child with a proper love of books. Harry would nod politely and greedily consume his meal – while the Dursleys didn't starve him, they seemed to think there was an inverse relationship to how much they fed him and how much strangeness he exhibited. The sandwiches were a true blessing.

One of the volunteers, a girl from the local high school, finally got fed up with Harry sitting there everyday, docilely reading a book. She took him to a section that he hadn't been in before that was full of videocassettes, selected one of them, and dragged him by the arm to a back room. The room had a small television set, which she set him down in front of. She told him that he was far too serious, and she was going to put a smile on his face.

Harry was rather alarmed – he was only seven, but there had been a police officer in school that had given them warnings about adults who said such things. However, this girl was still in school herself, so Harry settled down to watch the film with good grace.

He was confused at first, when he saw the misty outline of what may have been a tree, and heard a faint 'clop-clopping' sound. As a man in mail armour trotted – literally – into the frame, Harry's eyes widened in delight. This was undoubtably strange, and perhaps, just perhaps, it would be a strangeness that he could adhere to. 

The young boy, who had been previously adrift in an undefined world of strangeness, had found his niche with the men who argued about the migration of coconuts.

0000oooo000

Harry was being chased by Dudley and his gang for being strange when it happened. An insanely large owl swooped down out of the sky towards the group of ten and eleven-year-olds. For whatever reason, all of Dudley's friends were terrified of birds, and they turned tail and ran, leaving Dudley and Harry to deal with the owl by themselves.

The owl released a heavy parchment just as it neared the boys, and it sliced through the air somewhat like one of those Japanese ninja stars, Harry thought, before striking Dudley in the stomach. It actually wasn't very hard to miss said target, as it was very large, but Harry had to admire the force behind the envelope; it had momentarily disappeared into a fold of fat before popping out again at a much-reduced velocity.

“Well taken, Con – er – Dudders!” Harry said cheerfully.

Dudley, who had been the one most subjected to Harry's conversion to Pythonism, just sort of went with it. He picked on Harry because his friends seemed to like it, and his parents approved. If he didn't organize the bullying of Harry, it was likely that he would be made fun of for his excessive weight, so a system had worked out between them. Dudley would go along with Harry's quotations, and Harry would allow his friends to chase him. Vernon was proud, Petunia was happy, and the cousins managed to live with each other.

“Thanks, Harry,” Dudley wheezed, “letter for you?” The heavy parchment envelope lay innocently between them, hiding the dangerous projectile it could turn into. Harry ignored it for the time being, and kneeled down dramatically next to Dudley.

“Con – damn! – Dudley! Dudley, speak to me!” line out of the way, Harry plucked up the envelope and slit it open.

Dear Mr Potter, he read out loud, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on September 1st at Hogwarts Castle.

There was a few other things mentioned in the letter, but he was trying to stay within the parameters of the scene. He leapt up and gazed off into the middle-distance.

“At last!” he cried, “at last, a call, a cry of – er – strangeness and – ah – magic! This could be the sign that leads us – er, me, that is – to ... to ... away from here!” he finished lamely. He turned back to Dudley. “Brave, brave Dudders! You shall not have died in vain!” Here Dudley looked confused. He could never quite keep up with Harry when he got like this.

“Uh, I'm – I'm not quite dead, Harry,” he said uncertainly. Harry grinned at his unwitting completion of the line.

“Well, you shall not have been mortally wounded in vain!” He cried dramatically.

Dudley wondered briefly what 'mortally wounded' meant before saying, “Look, Harry, it's not that bad – I'll probably be fine ...” he trailed off as Harry looked disappointed. He didn't know that it was only a partly-affected expression.

“Oh, I see,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dudley shifted, “yeah, I think I'll head home now, Harry. Mum said she'd have cake ready and -” he was cut off by Harry, who was very displeased as he couldn't see how he could complete the scene properly. Sometime things just didn't work out as you planned them.

“Yeah, fine, Dudders,” he said, “I'll go off and do something brave and heroic etcetera etcetera, I'll pretend you stayed there, and actually know the word idiom...” he walked off, muttering to himself and clutching the letter for further perusal. Dudley stared after him for a moment, then waddled home. His mother made the best chocolate cakes.

Days later, when Hagrid burst down the front door to pick up Harry on his birthday, Dudley calmly kept eating his breakfast while his mother screeched and his father bellowed. Honestly, he thought, rolling his eyes, Harry has had way sillier things happen to him than have a giant come to pick him up.

0000oooo000

Hermione Granger loved books. She loved learning, and she loved the feeling she got when she knew the answer to something. She didn't have many friends, because all the children she went to school with were rather – well – childish. Her parents were amazing dentists, and had ingrained a deep respect for the rules into Hermione. So, she was perhaps slightly overzealous with her attachment to the rules and to knowledge, making others view her as a bossy know-it-all.

What many didn't know, was that when her parents were busy with their practice, and Hermione was finished with school, her cousin would visit to take care of her. Her cousin was had just finished his A levels, and had a younger sister who was still in high school whom Hermione rarely got to see because she volunteered in a library. And her cousin always brought with him tapes of Monty Python. 

Hermione had very quickly come to appreciate pure silliness, and was horrified at the prospect that someone may find out. So she nursed a love of Monty Python and watched all of the movies, television shows, and random skits associated with it, totally unbeknownst to her parents.

So it was that when Professor McGonagall showed up at the door to inform her that she was a witch, Hermione unconsciously put on her best Connie Booth voice and loudly proclaimed,

“I'm not a witch!” and subconsciously waited for the rest of the scene to play out.

Her parents, who did not watch Monty Python, smiled at their daughter's down-to-earth manner, and Professor McGonagall smiled and turned the teapot into a cat.

Hermione felt quite derailed. 

She had almost given up all hope of finding a niche of silliness when she and her parents and Professor McGonagall got caught up in a mob at the Leaky Cauldron. There was a giant of a man pressed up against the bar, and she could barely see a head of black hair hiding behind the considerable girth. The patrons of the bar were all shouting, trying to be heard over each other.

“Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter!”

“Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back!”

“Darling, it's the Boy-Who-Lived, look – look!”

Trying to get away from the press of people, a small boy clambered onto the bar. He looked quite terrified, Hermione noticed.

A little girls voice drifted over all the others.

“Mum, is that the Saviour? Mum, is he?”

The boy looked quite alarmed, and yelled, “Hey!”

A man from the back yelled, “Quiet! The Boy-Who-Lived is going to speak!” 

A hush fell over the pub. Hermione worked her way over to the bar. The black haired boy drew himself up, and with a quirk of his lips proclaimed: “I'm not the Mes – er – the Boy-Who-Lived!”

There was a very loud silence. Then the little girl's voice piped up again.

“Yes you are! You're our Saviour!”

Hermione had suppressed this part of herself for a good portion of her life. She had played the part of the rule-abiding know-it-all, and look where that had gotten her. No friends, and grades so good that almost no one would believe them. On this day, when she was entering a new world, it was maybe time to unleash another Hermione Granger. One that indulged in silliness. She adopted a quavery voice and yelled, “He's not the Saviour! He's a very naughty boy!”

The boy in question met her eyes, and they both grinned silly grins at each other. While the crowd broke out into a confused babble, the pair exited to the courtyard, where a firm friendship was formed.

0000oooo000

Harry was dumped unceremoniously at Kings cross station by his fearful relatives. He was rather early, so he made his way towards platforms nine and ten not worrying too much about getting the right train. Having a platform 9 3/4 sounded rather silly and strange, so he should be able to find it without a problem. Indeed, he was able to observe a large family of red-headed people disappear through what looked like a solid brick wall, which wasn't at all normal. He supposed that he had found what he was looking for. The mother and little girl went through first, then the rather stuffy looking eldest boy followed them. Harry felt a spark of strangeness welling up inside of him, and decided to go with the flow. He stepped in front of the remaining red-heads – a set of twins and their younger brother. He took up a stance in front of the wall, and looked at them with a blank expression.

The twins had possibly seen the spark of silliness in his eyes, for they hung back with amused grins. The younger was oblivious, and approached Harry, eyeing his scar.

“Blimey, mate, are you Harry Potter? You killed You-Know-Who when you were a baby!”

Harry remained silent, blinking at the boy. The red-head looked puzzled for a moment, then stated assertively, “I am Ron, Ron Weasley.” There was a pause, where Harry said nothing and the twins looked amused. Ron, Ron Weasley cleared his throat and continued. “I'm going with my brothers to Hogwarts, I'll be a first year.” There was another long pause, where Harry was obviously expected to say something. Ron looked slightly frustrated, but tried one last time. “You seem like a pretty cool bloke, do you want to sit with me on the train?” Again, Harry said nothing, and the boy looked almost crestfallen. “Oh well,” he said, “C'mon, you two,” he gestured at the twins, then stepped forward to go through the barrier. Finally, Harry spoke up.

“None shall pass.” Ron Weasley looked confused at the words, and with the booming voice Harry had used.

“What?” he asked articulately.

“None shall pass,” Harry repeated. Ron frowned at him.

“Mate, we don't want to fight you, but we've gotta get on the platform!” he said in an aggrieved tone.

“Then,” Harry said with a ringing voice, “you shall die.”

Behind Ron, the twins were cracking up. Ron's face turned red and he yelled, “Oi! Just because you're Harry Potter doesn't mean you can say that to us! Move!” Harry was having a hard time keeping his face straight, but he managed to get out one last line.

“I move for no ... boy.”

Ron looked absolutely livid. “Fine!” he yelled, and lunged toward Harry, arms outstretched. Swiftly, Harry moved aside, and Ron disappeared through the barrier. As soon as he was gone, the twins were on the ground, howling with laughter.

“Mate!” one of them said, “that was brilliant!”

“Absolutely inspired!” the other joined in.

“Thanks!” Harry beamed. “Um, just wondering, but could you maybe help me out with this whole train thing? I was raised by muggles ...” he trailed off, allowing the twins to draw their own conclusions.

“Brilliant!” they said in chorus, and they shoved Ron's abandoned trolley through, before following it with Harry sandwiched between them. They introduced themselves and Fred and George, then George and Fred, then got him situated in a compartment, and he thanked them heartily, addressing them as John and Bob. They left him, delighted with their new names.

Harry settled back on the seat cushions, very content with the strangeness going on around him.

0000oooo000

Harry Potter was very strange and silly, and he was also very powerful. Power calls to power, and so as the train made its way north to Hogwarts, Harry's power reached out to the great node of magic that the castle was situated on. There is also a great power in belief, and Harry firmly believed in the strange and silly things he had seen displayed by the Monty Python troupe. 

The magic of Hogwarts picked up on that power, and was momentarily confused. This was unprecedented! There was nothing in wizarding memory so – silly! Cautiously, Hogwarts explored the magic of the muggle-borns. Quite a few of them seemed to have ideas that resonated with the Boy-Who-Lived. If magic could shrug, then Hogwarts did. It was getting rather tired of reflecting Dumbledore's obsession with candy, in any case. It studied the power of Harry's convictions, and started the process of mimicking them...

0000oooo000

When Harry got up to go to the loo, he saw a large commotion outside of a compartment. It was a mass of children with green and blue striped robes, and they were hassling someone who looked very much like Hermione. Harry squinted through his thick glasses and realized with alarm that it was Hermione. He moved forward to observe what was going on.

The children had between them a scared-looking boy clutching a toad. Hermione was standing at his side, looking disapproving.

“He's a squib! A squib! We've got a squib!” the crowd screamed out.

“We've found a squib! We should hex it!” said one pale and sickly looking boy.

Hermione caught Harry's eye, and smirked, before drawing herself up and adopting and authoritative air. She addressed the crowd.

“How do you know he is a squib?” she inquired imperiously.

“He looks like one?” said a girl, gesturing at the boy's frightened and lost expression.

“Bring him forward,” Hermione said with a negligent wave of her hand.

The boy was placed before her, and he was shaking and scared. Despite this, he managed to look in her eye and stammer out, “I'm – I'm not a squib. I'm not a squib!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and looked him over. She pursed her lips and said, “But your name tag says you are.”

Everyone looked at the boy's chest, and indeed, there was a cheery name tag that read 'Hello! My name is SQUIB'. The boy made an 'eep' sort of sound, and looked around wildly.

“They put that on me!” he wailed.

All at once, all the children said, “No, we didn't ... no.”

The boy spoke again, trying to look confident. 

“And look, I've got a toad,” he fumbled around for it, before stooping and picking it up – it had been making a break for freedom – “and a wand...” he trailed off, brandishing his wand in one hand and his toad in the other.

Hermione glanced at the objects, before turning to the crowd of children.

“Well?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

The pale boy from before spoke up, “Well, we did do the name tag.”

“The name tag?”

“Yes. But he is a squib!”

The children started chanting, “Hex him! Hex him! Hex him!” and the boy accused of being a squib looked terrified.

Hermione looked exasperated. 

“Did you all just decide that he was a squib?” she asked curiously.

The children shifted, and several made to answer.

“No, no ... no ... yes”

“Yes, yes, a bit.”

“A bit...”

“What makes you think that he's a squib?” Hermione asked, not understanding what was going on.

“He can't do magic!” one of the more impassioned children claimed.  
“Yeah! Hex him! Hex him!” the children demanded.

Hermione yelled out over the commotion. She was handling this wonderfully, Harry thought. 

“Quiet, quiet. Quiet! There are ways of telling whether someone is a witch or wizard!” She told them in a knowledgable tone.

“Are there?” one girl asked curiously. “What are they?”

Harry grinned. Hermione caught his eye, and looked smug. She would have to do this carefully...

“What,” she asked, “do muggles do to witches?” The children looked stumped for a moment, trying to remember what their parents had told them about the dangers of muggles.

“Burn them?” Ventured a dark-skinned boy. The rest of the children nodded. Hermione nodded as well.

“And what do people burn normally?”

“Erm – muggles?”

“Wood!”

Hermione caught up that answer. 

“So, why do witches – and wizards – burn?” she asked the enraptured crowd. The twins had joined the edges, and were grinning crazily at the scene unfolding before them.

A girl with a face like a pug squashed it up even more in thought.

“Be....cause we're made of ... wood?” She asked in confusion.

Before anyone could contest the silly statement, Hermione crowed, “Good!” and patted the girl on the head. The rest of the children were nodding to themselves, while Harry and the twins grinned. Hermione continued.

“So, how do we tell whether he,” she pointed at the nervous boy, “is made of wood?”

“Make a wand out of him?” one child ventured.

“Ah, but don't wands have other things in them?” Hermione asked, heading off that train of thought. The crowd seemed as one to glance at their wands, before nodding. Hermione decided to prod them in the right direction.

“Does wood sink in water?”

“No. No it doesn't” was the general reply.

“We could throw him in the lake when we get to Hogwarts...” suggested a second-year. People started to look enthusiastic about that, so Hermione quickly asked,

“What also floats in water?”

The replies were perfect, Harry thought in amazed wonder.

“Bread!”

“Apples!”

“Very small rocks!”

“Butterbeer!”

“Lead – lead!”

“A duck.” Harry cut across the confused suggestions, making his answer a statement. The twins were beaming at him.

There was a collective 'ooooh' from the crowd, that the twins may or may not have instigated. Hermione grinned at Harry, and said “Exactly! So, logically...” she trailed off leadingly.

The pug faced girl seemed to be working it through. With Hermione's encouraging nods, she said, “If ... he ... weighs the same as a duck, he's made of wood.”

“And therefor?”

“A wizard!” The students yelled as one.

Hermione strode up and grabbed each twin by an ear. “We shall use these two to determine the weight!” She declared. A duck was produced out of nowhere, and was thrust into the arms of a confused twin. The squib boy was scooped up bridal style by the other twin. The crowd seemed to hold its breath for a moment while the twins gazed into each others' eyes, before they turned and declared in unison, “they're the same!”

“He's a wizard!” the crowd screamed, rejoicing. They soon dispersed, and Hermione and Harry were left with the twins and the unfortunate boy, who was still in the arms of one of the red-heads. The duck and the toad were getting acquainted somewhere near Harry's legs.

Harry smiled at Hermione, who said “You're pretty wise in the ways of ... magic, Harry,” 

“I'm Harry Potter,” Harry shrugged modestly.

“Thank you, Harry Potter!” gasped the unnamed boy. “I'm Neville Longbottom!” he fell out of Fred's – or was it George's – arms in order to thank his saviours.

“No problem, Neville,” Harry said cheerfully, leaning forward to peel of the SQUIB sticker. “What do you guys say to being my friends at Hogwarts?” 

The smiles he saw on the faces before him were all the answers he needed.

0000oooo000

The wise Sir Hermione was the first to join Harry's friends, but other illustrious names were soon to follow. Sir Gred, the Humourous; Sir Forge the Hysterical; and Sir Neville the Not-very-brave who had been nearly proclaimed a squib, and who enjoyed gardening and tea time very much, and who had personally wet himself at the prospect of flying a broom when he was seven; and the aptly named Sir Luna-who-won't-be-along-'till-second-year. Together they formed a band that would soon make the Wizarding World tremble at their silliness.

0000oooo000

Harry and Hermione, and newcomers to the Wizarding World, were understandably ignorant as to the confections offered there. They were actually not personally familiar with candy in general, as Hermione's parents were dentists, and Harry was only allowed to watch Dudley eat candy, never consume it himself. The twins decided that they needed a crash course in Wizarding candy, and they never noticed the wave of silly magic that was working on them as they spent more and more time with Harry. They shoved numerous packaged of candy into the first years' hands, not excluding Neville (his grandmother was very strict and didn't allow him such frivolities as sweeties) and allowed them to inspect the various products.

Finally, Harry looked up, a gleam in his eye.

“You two approve of these ... Wizard candies?” he asked in an official tone.

“We do,” the twins replied in unison.

Hermione piped up, “Superintendent Harry and I are concerned with the hygiene. We want to have a word with you about the quality of these assorted Wizard treats.”

“Ah,” said a twin.

“Yes,” said the other.

Hermione continued, “If I may begin at the beginning. First there are the Bertie Bott's Every-Flavoured Beans.Some of these are extremely nasty, but we can't prosecute, as they do say 'every flavour'.  
The twins nodded sagely. Harry took up the thread of the conversation.

“Next we have these 'Chocolate Frogs,” he began, “am I right in thinking there's a real frog in here?”

George honestly wanted to say that it was just a spell. Which was the truth. But silly magic had begun working in its silly ways, and he heard himself saying, “Yes. A little one.” Fred looked at him, surprised, but then grinned and figured they'd go along with the joke.

“What sort of frog,” Hermione asked narrowly.

“A dead one,” Fred promptly replied.

“Is it cooked?” Neville asked hesitantly. He was taking his time with getting swept up in the silly magic. The twins replied in the negative. Here, Hermione looked shocked.

“What, a raw frog?” She exclaimed. Neville was looking increasingly queasy. George began to get really into the scene, finding the words just rolled off of his tongue. Harry was delighted.

“We use only the finest baby frogs, dew picked and flown from Iraq, cleansed in finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and then sealed in a succulent Swiss quintuple smooth treble cream milk chocolate envelope and lovingly frosted with glucose,” he said with certainty. Hermione looked severe.

“That's as may be, it's still a frog,” she said.

“What else?” Fred asked in an affronted tone.

“Well don't you even take the bones out?” She asked incredulously.

George protested swiftly, “If we took the bones out it wouldn't be crunchy would it?” 

Hermione squinted at the twins. “I'm pretty sure Neville ate one of those,” she said.

Neville turned green. “Excuse me a moment,” he moaned, and left hurriedly.

Fred looked at Hermione and said in a cool voice, “It says 'Chocolate Frog' quite clearly.” 

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “People won't expect there to be a frog in there. They're bound to think it's some form of mock frog,” she explained patiently.

George put on a very offended tone when he said, “Mock frog? We use no artificial preservatives or additives of any kind!”

Hermione swept on, “Nevertheless, I must warn you that in future you should delete the words 'Chocolate Frog', and replace them with the legend 'Chocolate-covered Raw Unboned Real Dead Frog', if you want to avoid prosecution.”

At that point Neville re-entered the compartment, and the five of them stared at each other for a few moments before bursting into laughter.

“That was brilliant!” one of the twins crowed. “Excellent stuff!”

“Yeah,” Harry grinned, munching on a liquorish wand, “it worked out perfectly didn't it? Good job, everyone.” He gave Hermione a pleased look, which had her preening.  
A sudden choked noise came from Neville, who was munching on Bertie Bott's Beans. He turned green, and got up hastily.

“Spew, I reckon,” he said in a horrified voice, and lurched out of the compartment.

The remaining students blinked at each other for a time, then collapsed in helpless laughter, surrounded by Wizard candy.

 

0000oooo000

Hagrid collected the first years off of the train, and led them down a forest trail. It was a very dark trail, and Neville cowered in between Harry and Hermione. Harry noticed this, and suddenly broke into song:

Bravely bold Neville, walked towards Hogwaaarts!  
He was not afraid to die, Oh bra-ave Neville!  
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways!  
Brave, brave, brave, bra-ave Neville!

The rest of the first years started shifting uneasily, glancing dubiously at Harry. Neville looked petrified, and Hermione, not wanting to miss out, sang the next verse:

He was not in the least bit scared to be cursed into a pulp,  
Or to have his eyes hexed out, and his ha-ands broken!  
To have his wa-and split, and his magic burned away,  
And his limbs all hacked and mangled bra-ave Neville!

Here the first years were looking positively terrified, and were walking quickly, trying to keep up with Hagrid and get away from the trio simultaneously. Neville looked as though he were about to faint. Hermione and Harry started singing together:

His trunk smashed in and his robes cut up  
And his cauldron exploded – his vials all gone  
And his to-oad dead and his spellbooks burned up  
And his - 

Here they were cut off by Hagrid's booming voice as they rounded a corner.

“Look 'ere, kids, now you'll get your first sigh' o'” he gestured grandly as a castle appeared through the trees, “Hogwarts!”

It was a lovely castle; a dark silhouette in the night sky, up on a hill across a glassy lake. There were warm yellow lights coming from the windows. As one, the first years 'ooooh'd in delight.

“Hogwarts,” sighed a pig-tailed girl with starry eyes.

“Hogwarts!” shouted an excited Ron, Ron Weasley.

“Hogwarts,” drawled a pale-haired boy with a pointy face.

“It's only a model,” Harry muttered in a stage-whisper.

Hermione stifled a giggle as Hagrid began to direct the children into boats.

“Shh!” she said. “Wizards,” she addressed Harry, Neville, and the pale-haired boy who had joined them in their boat, “I bid you welcome to your new home. Let us ... sail ... to Hogwarts!”

 

********* INTERMISSION (*#&(*#Q(*#R&(*&$(*@&$#(*)&*& INTERMISSION ************* INTERMISSION (@#(*@*(@(*@Q#)(@*#&!)@(*#&@*(& INTERMISSION ************

 

Part the First and A Bit - Sorting 11-year-olds for Life

The first-years were met at the castle by a very stern-looking witch. She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, and Harry didn't think that she would be very receptive to silliness. He shared a glance with Hermione. They would have to work on that.

The other first-years were very nervous, but as he was ushered into the castle, then into the Great Hall, Harry felt a wash of comforting magic flow over him. It was bubbly and cheerful, if a bit dry. It felt silly and Harry loved it.

Finally, the little eleven-year-olds were arranged at the front of the Hall, looking up at an old, battered hat sitting on an equally old wooden stool. A rip near the brim opened wide, and the most wonderful song poured forth:

Why are we here? What is this all about?  
Was Godric really real, or is there some doubt?  
Well tonight we're going to sort it all out,  
For tonight, I will Sort you for Life.

What's the point of putting you in a House?  
Does it teach you the food chain, or just to play cat and mouse?  
Or perhaps it just helps you to pick out hour spouse,  
Well ca c'est – I will Sort you for Life.

Is life just a game where we make up the rules  
While we're searching for something to say?  
Or does this just divide you in a roll to act out  
In a script for the Hogwarts' play?

What is Life? What is our fate?  
Is it all prophesized, are we just dragon-bait?  
Can a Time-Turner save us or is it too late?  
Well, who cares? I just Sort you for Life.

Gryffindors will be brave, and will face their own fears,  
Hufflepuffs will work hard through the day,  
While Ravenclaws will seek out wisdom and truth,  
And Slytherins make their own way.

So just why, why are we here?  
And just what, what, what do we fear?  
Well ce soir, for a change, I'll speak French to be clear,  
Je suis le chapeu de tri – Sort you for Life – c'est le sens de la vie  
Tonight, you'll be Sorted for Life!

There was a rousing round of applause, during which the hat bowed to each of the four House tables, before becoming still again. McGonagall glanced around the Hall in order to silence it, then began reading off of a list of names.

McGonagall made it through the first half of the alphabet without much problem. There was a small incident when they passed the 'G' section; the Hat started quivering on the Granger girl's head. However, it soon stopped and sorted the clever girl into Gryffindor. She kept going down the list, and as she reached 'Longbottom, Neville!' the magic of the castle seemed to quiver along with the Hat, which sat upon Neville's head for quite a long time before ultimately deciding on the House of the Lions. It was as she was going through the 'P' names that things seemed to change. The whole Hall felt it; a shift in the magic that would have been concerning if it weren't quite so whimsical. Dumbledore seemed to be enjoying it, while Snape looked, quite frankly, appalled.

There was a beat of silence after Professor McGonagall called out, “Potter, Harry!”

Before the students could start whispering among themselves, the rip at the brim of the Hat opened wide. In an absolutely unprecedented move, it spoke out loud to the person that it was Sorting.

“Harry! Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived!” it called out in a strident voice. The stars reflected in the ceiling seemed to glow with an unearthly light, and a hush fell over the Great Hall. Harry Potter, instead of moving to sit on the stool, fell onto his knees on the stone floor, looking up at the Hat with a carefully sculpted awe. The Hat snorted.

“Oh, don't grovel! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people groveling,” it spat out disgustedly.

Harry flushed, and muttered, “Sorry -” only to be interrupted by the Hat.

“And don't apologize, or beg. Every time I try to talk to someone it's “sorry I'm not brave” and “please not Hufflepuff!” and “I'm not slimy.” What are you doing now?” the Hat asked in an incredulous tone, seeming to stare sightlessly at Harry, who had turned his gaze to the side.

“I'm averting my eyes, oh Hat,” he said solemnly. Hermione Granger was staring at them him from the Gryffindor table, obviously torn between amazement and jealousy. The Weasly Twins were watching with a rapt fascination, whispering to each other and taking notes. The staff just seemed to be in shock, and didn't do anything as the Hat snapped at Harry.

“Well don't! It's like those miserable Augeries – they're so depressing. Now knock it off!” it said severely.

“Yes, Hat,” Harry said respectfully.

“Right!” said the Hat, “Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, your Knights shall have a task to make them an example in these dark, serious times.”

“Good idea, oh Hat!” Harry piped enthusiastically.

“'Course it's a good idea!” the Hat said gruffly. “Harry,” it said, and suddenly the ceiling was displaying a scene of squiggly lines and random shapes, accented with various llamas and moose, “this is Silly Magic. Look well, Harry, for it is your sacred task to seek this magic, as it will help you with your purpose. That is your purpose, Harry, and to set you on your path, I will sort you – into Gryffindor!”

The Hat roared the last word, but none of the Houses cheered. They were far too shocked. Harry stood up, gasping.

“A blessing!” he cried out, turning towards his new house mates. Hermione also stood, eager to be in on it, and exclaimed,

“A blessing from the Hat!”

The Weasley twins stood and said in unison, “Hat be praised!”

Harry skipped over to the Gryffindor table, where the rest of the students seemed to be getting over their shock, and welcomed him as he sat next to Hermione and Neville. It was a mark of just how silly the magic was becoming that the sorting moved on as normal from that point. Students and professors alike chose to ignore the random happening, and everyone not directly related to this tale forgot even the mention of silly magic.

Oooo000ooo000

Harry found that he quite enjoyed his classes. He didn't go into throes of passion over them, as Hermione seemed wont to do, but they were interesting, and different. He had had fun in Transfiguration, trying to frame Hermione for turning him into a newt.

The silliness of his magic had yet to enter the Transfiguration Mistress's abode, so the scene did not play out as planned. Instead of being able to deliver a witty quip, the class were treated to a lecture on the dangers of human to animal transfiguration, and why it should never be attempted before the requisite years of study. Good one, Harry. Hermione loved him for it, but the rest of the Gryffindors shot him several nasty looks.

Potions was another let-down. The mean, brooding professor would have made for an excellent scene, but he seemed to be the absolute epitome of everything not silly. Harry supposed he would have to keep his head down for now, and wait for the magic to properly infuse silliness into certain people.

The silliness was certainly working on the Headmaster! Harry was only a first year, so he wasn't sure if the Headmaster usually wore such bright robes, or offered the children muggle candies. If he were passing on the street, Harry would definitely call child services on him, but as it was, Harry enjoyed sweets almost every day. He also enjoyed long sermons from Hermione on the dangers that hard candy posed to teeth.

Harry felt that the silliness wasn't spreading through the school at an impressive enough rate, and decided to embark on a quest to correct the situation. The time for questing presented itself on the first Sunday morning of term, during Hogwarts' delicious Sunday Brunch.

Harry had dragged Neville out of bed and they had met Hermione in the common room. There, he had solemnly presented them with their modes of conveyance, and they made their way down to the Great Hall, followed by many bemused or incredulous glances.

It was a shuffling trio that made their way into the large room, where they promptly bypassed the Gryffindor table, where three of the Weasleys were positively decimating the provided food, to the amusement or horror of their house mates. Instead, they made their way to the Ravenclaw table, where most of the students had their heads stereotypically buried in books, remembering only on occasion to feed themselves.

There was a 'whooshing' noise, and Harry came to a halt near the end of the table. He and his friends were clutching sticks between their legs, which had been the cause of all the staring. Well, most of it. Harry Potter couldn't really go anywhere without getting stared at.

There was a few beats of silence before Harry got impatient and said, “Hello, there!” in a very loud voice.

This caused many Ravenclaws to look up from their books, in some cases with food hanging out of their mouths most indecorously. Some looked annoyed, while others looked intrigued, as they eyed the three first years who were straddling very strange-looking sticks. They said nothing, however.

Harry, seeing that he had some of their attention, said in a loud, confident voice,

“Good morning! It is I, Harry, son of James Potter of the castle... Hogwarts. Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, and First Year Gryffindor!”

By now, most of the table, and a few students from the surrounding tables had begun to stare. Some Seventh Year Ravenclaws looked at each other warily, before a prefect decided to be the spokesperson.

“...Yeah?” he said articulately.

Harry frowned at the prefect, who wasn't really doubting him so much as wondering what in the world was going on. Still, though.

“I am,” Harry asserted, almost defensively, “and this is my trusty ... friend ... Neville. We have flown the length and breadth of the grounds in search of wizards -” 

“And witches!” interjected Hermione. Instead of becoming annoyed at the interruption, Harry just continued with his remarkable proclamation.

“- and witches who will join me in my court at ... Hogwarts. I must speak with ... you all.” He finished with a flourish, adjusting his seat on the odd-looking stick. The walls of Hogwarts seemed to pulse, and there was a shift, as if in readiness for impending silliness.

After quite a bit of silence, during which the Ravenclaws stared and Harry sat imperiously, the original prefect spoke again.

“What? Flown on a broom?” he asked incredulously, staring at their sticks.

“Yes!” Harry said decisively.

The Ravenclaws all stared at each other, then back at the first years, and seemed to reach an accord that something needed to be said. The prefect took it upon himself to say it.

“You're using bamboo!” he said, almost accusingly.

Harry's face was a perfect study in confusion. “What?” he asked, as if not quite sure as to what he had heard.

Exasperated, the prefect continued. “You've all got sticks of bamboo and you're making 'whooshing' noises!”

Harry and Hermione looked very affronted, while Neville looked down guiltily. Blustering slightly, Harry made his reply.

“So? We have flown since – erm – this morning, through the hallways, through the Entrance Hall, through -” 

The Ravenclaw Prefect, seeming to sense that Harry could, and would, go on if not stopped, interrupted.

“Where'd you get the bamboo?” he asked, honestly curious.

“We found them,” Harry said stoutly.

At this, the female Ravenclaw Prefect could no longer contain herself, and joined the conversation, against her better judgement.

“Found them? In Scotland? Bamboo's tropical!” she said in an accusing tone. Honestly, bringing bamboo to Hogwarts, of all things....

“What do you mean?” Harry asked with confusion furrowing his brow.

“Well,” the girl said slowly, “this is a temperate zone.” In the back of her mind, she sensed there was something wrong with her argument, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Besides, what she was saying was perfectly logical! Harry, grinning inwardly, shared a quick glance with Hermione before waxing eloquent on the subject of bamboo transport.

“The swallow may fly south with the sun, or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land?” he said with a rolling tempo and delivery. Many students were witnessing the scene in fascination. Fred and George seemed to have finished with their breakfast, and had left Ron (who was still working his way through a plate of kippers) to observe their fellow Gryffindors.

Hermione, listening to Harry's explanation, nodded, but added under her breath, “also, there's this thing called magic, moron.” Harry nodded and rolled his eyes, but kept on with the discussion.

The first prefect spluttered for a bit, then joined in again.

“Are you suggesting that bamboo migrates?” he asked incredulously.

Harry looked at him as if he had said a disgusting swear word. 

“Not at all!” he said with indignation. “It could be carried,” he explained, as if it were obvious. Several Hufflepuffs nodded thoughtfully, and the twins made 'aahhh' noises in the background.

The female prefect jumped in again at Harry's explanation.

“What? A swallow carrying a bamboo shoot?” she exclaimed.

“It could grip it by the culm!” Harry asserted,

“It's not a question of where he grips it!” the male prefect said loudly. “It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird cannot carry a one pound – or higher – shoot of bamboo.” He sat back with a nod, sure that that was sorted, and that the Gryffindor First-Years would be off soon. Harry, however, still had one thing more to say.

“Well, it doesn't matter. Will you tell the rest of the Ravenclaws that Harry Potter from Gryffindor is here?” he said, looking about imperiously.

“Erm, Harry?” Neville said tentatively, “I think everyone in the Great Hall knows you're here...” 

Indeed, most of the Hall was staring at the Ravenclaw table, but Hermione hissed at Neville to be quiet. The female prefect, not content that their arguments were so easily brushed off by the Boy-Who-Lived, made one last attempt.

“Listen, in order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?” she said in a rush.

“Oh Merlin!” said an exasperated voice from the Slytherin table. “It's Magic, you muggle!”

With 'whooshing' noises, Harry and Hermione, followed clumsily by Neville, 'flew' back to the Gryffindor table, where they scrounged among the remnants Ron had left, putting together a very late brunch.

000oooo00000oooo

Neville wasn't very sure how he had gotten into this situation. He had stumbled down the stairs into the common room, looking for his toad, when he heard hushed voices. Curious, he made his way to the portrait hole. There, in their night clothes, were Harry and Hermione. Hermione seemed to be torn over something.

“Harry!” she whispered, “you'll get in ever so much trouble! You can't possibly mean to go after Malfoy!” Neville's eyes widened. Harry was sneaking out?

“I'm sorry, Hermione,” Harry said earnestly, “but I must do this. No, don't say anything. It must be done in my own particular...” he seemed to fumble over his words.

“Idiom, Harry?” Hermione suggested, rolling her eyes.

“Yes! Idiom!” said Harry brightly. “So, I'll just be stepping along them. You coming?” he asked her, moving to open the portrait hole. Hermione stared at him, then shrugged. Harry looked over his shoulder.

“You should come, too, Neville!”

Neville didn't know why he followed the boy out, he really didn't. It was obvious to anyone he was as mad as a hatter.

Twenty minutes later...

Neville was gasping as they ran from the snarls of Filch. Harry and Hermione were singing that song again, and Neville wondered, not for the first time, what on Earth was wrong with them. He assumed it was a muggle thing, and wondered if his Gran didn't have a point with her sticking to Magical tradition. Terrified, he hissed at his friends, trying desperately to open a door.

“Shhhh! That's - - that's, uh, that's enough music for now! Please! Looks like this door is locked!” he exclaimed, aggrieved. It seemed as though Filch would have three firsties to scrub the floor tomorrow...

Hermione scoffed. “Locked?” she asked, “We have magic, fool! Alohomora!” At the incantation, paired with a subtle movement of her wand, there was a distinct click from the door. Harry was grinning broadly, and ushered them inside.

“Quick, in we go”, he said, “we'll be able to preserve our freedom!”

There was silence from Neville, and Hermione half-turned to address the bespectacled boy.

“Ah, Harry, forget about freedom. Now I've dropped my wand,” she said, ruefully. Harry was understandably confused – why would the smartest witch in their year drop her wand?

Harry started to ask, “Why -” then as he turned fully around, he managed to squeak out a soft “oh.”

'Oh' wasn't quite what Neville had in mind. What he really wanted to do was dash out of the room, screaming his head off... but neither his voice nor his legs seemed to be working properly. Which was a shame, because in front of the three Gryffindors (and where did Fred and George disappear to?) was a massive, terrifying, three-headed dog. There were thick ropes of drool twisting down from among the largest, sharpest teeth Neville had ever seen. The three jaws opened all at once, and Neville shut his eyes, prepared for the end... but it didn't come. Instead, three deep, growly voices rumbled out,

“Halt! Who art thou?”

Harry, Hermione and Neville were quite taken aback. It wasn't every day that you were expecting to be viciously devoured, only to be addressed by a beast you didn't know could talk. Harry rallied the quickest, and gestured to Neville, who had been the first in the door, and was in front of the other two. This gave the illusion that he was the 'leader.' Singing boldly, Harry said,

“He is brave Sir Neville, brave Sir Neville, who -”

Honestly? Neville though. He was about to die and Harry was still singing that stupid song?

“Shut up!” he hissed at Harry, effectively cutting him off, before turning to speak to the monster. In a quavering voice, he said, “Um, n-n-nobody really, I'm j-just um, just passing through.” He prayed that that would satisfy the beast, so that they could slowly back out. He also prayed that Harry and Hermione wouldn't do anything...silly, as this really didn't seem like the right time for it. The dog was looking at them (all six eyes!) very suspiciously.

“What do you want?” it snarled.

Before Neville could come up with something sensible and unthreatening to say, Harry jumped in.

“To fight,” he sang boldly, “and -” here Neville managed to get a hand over the idiot's mouth.

“Shut up!” he almost wailed. “Um, oo,” he turned back to the monster, “n-nothing, nothing really – I, uh, j-just to um, just to p-pass through, good...ahh...” he trailed off when he realized that addressing the monster as 'Furry Devil of Death and Bad Breath' would not be conducive to their staying alive. Luckily, Hermione was a genius.

“Cerberus!” she hissed into his ear. He had a brief moment of thinking, 'wait, I thought I was Sir Neville,' before it clicked. Right.

“Cerberus, sir,” Neville finished lamely.

The Cerberus did not even pause to think before replying.

“I'm afraid not!” the three voices rang out in denial. Neville's heart sank. Time for one last appeal...

“Ah,” he said hesitantly, “w-well, actually I am a Knight of Hogwarts.” He could practically feel Harry, the git, swelling up as Neville claimed the title he had been given. The dog's heads looked him up and down incredulously.

“You're a Knight of Hogwarts?” the heads asked, seeking clarification.

Neville nodded in what he hoped was an assured manner. “I am,” he said. He hoped that this would work that Harry's made-up position would instill some form of respect in the creature...

The left head spoke before he could think further. “In that case I shall have to kill you,” it said solemnly.

Damn. See if he ever listened to Harry ever again. 

The other heads had joined in the conversation. The middle head politely asked, “Shall I?” while the right head shook slightly and said,

“Oh, I don't think so.”

“Well, what do you think?” asked the middle head patiently.

“I think kill him,” butted in the left head happily. Neville's heart sank.

“Well,” the right head seemed to disagree, “let's be nice to him,” he suggested. Neville felt he could work with that sentiment. Unfortunately, the middle head had other things to say.

“Oh, shut up,” it said to the right head.

“Perhaps -” the left head started, only to be cut off by the head next to it.

“And you!” it said severely. The left head ignored the middle, and said excitedly,

“Oh, quick, quick blokes, I want to bite his head off!” 

Oh, please Merlin, no.

The right head sniffed. “Oh, bite your own head off!” it said.

“Yes,” agreed the middle head, “do us all a favour!”

“What?” the left head said in shock.

“Yapping on all the time,” muttered the right head.

Somewhere, they seemed to hear laughter that sounded alarmingly like a studio audience. The Weasley Twins' distinctive dual laugh could be distinguished. The Cerberus seemed to disregard the noise.

“You're lucky,” the middle head groaned to the right head. “You're not next to him.”

“What do you mean?” the left head spluttered indignantly.

Very frankly, the middle head said simply, “You snore.”

“Oh, I don't,” the left head denied, before moving on “anyway, you've got bad breath!” he accused the middle head.

“Well it's only because you don't brush my teeth,” the middle head retorted. Neville wondered how it was possible for a dog to sound so snooty. Then he remembered he should be shocked that the dog was talking at all and shouldn't be focusing on the tone of voice, of all things.

“Oh, stop bitching and lets go have tea,” the right head whined plaintively.

Again, the disembodied Hogwarts' Studio Audience laughed at the dog-pun.

The left head was obviously tired with the arguments. “All right, all right, all right!” it said. “We'll kill him first and then have tea and biscuits.” Neville felt a sudden jerk at his collar.  
The middle head agreed, but the right head quickly said,

“Oh, but not biscuits.”

“All right, all right,” the left head muttered. “Not biscuits, but lets kill him anyway.”

Neville suddenly found himself out on the third floor, blinking at Harry and Hermione. Just as the door closed, they heard all three voices say, “Right!”

There was a pause, in which Harry, Hermione and Neville all looked at each other. Then, through the thick wooden door, they heard a growly voice say,

“He buggered off.”

There was another pause, before a voice, which Neville thought was the right head, concurred.

“So he has, he's scarpered.”

Any further discussion that the Cerberus had with itself was lost to Neville, as he was dragged down the hallway by a skipping Harry and Hermione. They were looking out for Filch, but as they went, Hermione giggled and started singing under her breath. Neville sighed, utterly spent with his adventure and wanting nothing more than to curl up in Gryffindor Tower.

“Brave Sir Neville ran away!”

Neville was very indignant. Harry had dragged him out of there! So he said,

“No!”

Harry joined in with the singing, “Bravely ran away away!”

“I didn't!” Neville protested. Harry ignored him.

“When danger reared its ugly head,” Harry sang, only to be cut off by Hermione.

“He bravely turned his tail and fled,” she sang.

“No!” They weren't even listening.

Now Harry and Hermione were trading off lines. Harry would start, and Hermione would finish. Neville was getting a headache.

“Yes Brave Sir Neville turned about -”

“And gallantly he chickened out!” Hermione sang before continuing, “bravely taking to his feet -”

Neville tried to interject with an “I never did!” but Harry just rolled on through.

“He beat a very brave retreat,” the Boy-Who-Lived sang.

Neville, exasperated almost screamed. “All lies!” he wailed (very quietly, as he really didn't want to get caught by Filch).

Finally, Harry and Hermione sang together, harmonizing very nicely, Neville couldn't help but notice.

“Bravest of the Brave, Sir Neville!”

They beamed at him. Neville glared, before saying, in tired exasperation,

“It was a three-headed-dog, you morons!” and walking up to the Fat Lady in a Huff.

 

000oooo000

There was a slowly accumulating silliness in the castle. Harry and his Knights helped it along where they could (Neville unknowingly, Hermione calculatingly, and the Weasley Twins in as many ways as possible) and it grew to the point where where one saw Harry Potter, one was likely to see something silly happening.

Thus it was with great surprise that something not-quite-so-silly occurred on Halloween. 

In the middle of the rather sumptuous feast, Professor Quirrel came bursting into the Great Hall, screaming at the top of his quavery voice,

“TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!”

After informing the entire school in a rather remarkable way, he fell into a dead faint.

There was an eerie silence, in which nothing silly happened. Students seemed afraid to breathe, as if it would make the troll come barging into the Hall. Suddenly, Harry piped up.

“I don't think that there was a punch-line scheduled, was there?” he asked innocently.

The resulting pandemoneum was the stuff of Hogwarts legend – Dumbledore ordered everyone back to their dormitories, and the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins banded together in an unprecedented move, convinced that the Headmaster was trying to do them in. Fred and George, seeing the united front that yellow and green presented, promptly flipped the Gryffindor table onto its side and started flinging food at the dungeon-dwellers. They got the Gryffindor chasers in on it, citing their need to practice, and the rest of the House soon joined in. The Ravenclaws hid under their books (they had each brought enough with them to dinner that by stacking them with their table, they were able to create an impregnable stronghold). The teachers were trying to restore order and rouse Professor Quirrel.

Only Harry, Hermione and Neville noticed when a huge, ugly grey head poked into the Hall. It glanced around, taking in the chaos, before blinking and slowly retreating.

They shared a look, and burst out laughing, before turning to wash Malfoy's face with ice cream. 

Finally, Professor McGonagall grew utterly fed up, and released a series of high-pitched noised from her wand that had everybody wincing. Glaring about the room, her nostrils pinched and her eyebrows furrowed, she snapped,

“Stop that! It's very silly!”

Harry decided that Halloween, despite being the anniversary of his parents' murders, wasn't that bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So! You like? Any suggestions? Please leave your thoughts, and thanks for reading!
> 
> See if you can name all the scenes I used, or which movie/show they were from ;)
> 
> Also, if you can take the Python songs and Potterize them - it's really fun! You should try it!


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